Big Man's Bride (Big Men Small Towns 1)

When we got to reinstalling the wrought iron railing, Ally asked me what made me hold on to it. That’s when I finally explained to her what my business was, she blushed. She’d expected I was a heartless developer when in fact, my focus is on preservation and remodeling.

Ally still isn’t over the embarrassment of having her pictures splashed across the internet, so she’s only gone into her office a couple of times since we got married, preferring to do much of her work from home. When she did go to the office, the house felt too quiet and empty. I missed her. More than I care to admit. When Ally told me what she does for work, I was surprised. I honestly would never have guessed that a woman like her, a woman with so much passion, would be an accountant. She’s so vibrant, it doesn’t make sense. So one night I asked her.

“Why accounting?”

“It’s a good job.”

I smiled. “Of course it is, but you just don’t strike me as someone who’d want to be an accountant.”

“Oh really?” she says, curling up in her chair. “What do I seem like?”

“Like some crazy photographer or artist who wants to travel the world and let the wind take them where it will.”

She smiles. “Well that’s nice of you. But for the record, there are a lot of brilliant, passionate people who also happen to be accountants.”

“I’m sure that there are, but that doesn’t answer the question of why you are one.”

Her face grows serious. “It … was for my grandfather. Even though I was young, I knew that he gave up everything to take care of me after my mom died. Every time I had to ask him for something—even if it was necessary—I felt guilty. Like a burden. But getting this house back, both for me and for him, is my way of paying him back for all those years of support. And love.”

“I want to meet him,” I say suddenly, and Ally’s eyebrows rise into her hairline. “He sounds like an amazing man.”

“I’ll … I’ll think about it,” she say.

It’s only then that I realize what I said. I’m not supposed to be interested in Ally in that way. I’m not supposed to intrude on her life. Because in just a short time, we’re going our separate ways.

She’s shared stories about him with me, and he sounds great. Like the perfect, hilarious grandparent that everyone wishes they had. It reminds me of my relationship with my own grandfather, and I desperately wish that he were still alive so that Ally could meet him.

At first, I was determined to keep my own past from Ally—she’d already gotten enough of the picture. In agreeing to this deal, she knows that my family is withholding my inheritance and we don’t really talk to each other. She doesn’t need to know that my father is an abusive, controlling bastard, and that in spite of myself, I’m still desperate for the approval and love that he never gave me. I know I’ll never get that from him but getting my inheritance and making a clean break from him, that’s second best and something I can live with.

So I paint a rosier picture for her. The more fun parts of being a rich kid. Christmases in exotic locations and great experiences skiing in the Alps and snorkeling in the Caribbean. I tell her the things she already assumes, and I laugh along with her over tales of wrecked brand new cars and wild parties at my parents’ mansion.

Lying in bed with Ally at the end of the day is my favorite thing. The moon shines through the window and casts light over her beautiful face. She’s looking at me as if she wants to ask me a question. I put down my phone and turn to her.

“What’s on your mind?” I ask, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “You have a particular look on your face.”

“You don’t actually talk about your parents that much. Do you miss them? All the stories you tell me, you talk about Ellen.”

Ellen was my nanny, and after my grandfather died, she was one of the only bright spots in my life. “I…it was better when it was just the two of us,” I said.

Slowly, Ally reaches over and brushes my hair off my forehead. “Will you tell me? I know you’ve been holding back. I feel like you know everything about me now, but you’re still such a mystery to me.”

I can’t help myself. If I’m going to talk about this, then I need to have her in my arms. I pull her against my body and hold her close. The words are soft at first, but once they start, they come out in a torrent.

“My father…is a bastard. Cruel and hard. If I wasn’t perfect, or if I looked at him the wrong way, or sometimes just my presence, that was enough of an excuse for him to beat the hell out of me.”